


my only flower, my only star

by esnoyuuutsu



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, idk how else to tag this i'm just sad okay, now here's 'i have exactly two guesses for july's birthday', you've heard of 'every day in august is august's birthday'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esnoyuuutsu/pseuds/esnoyuuutsu
Summary: July doesn't know when his birthday is, but that doesn't seem to stop August. Not now, not ever.
Relationships: August/July (A3!)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	my only flower, my only star

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KWx1xIW7-8) song that i was looping the entire time. it's pretty! and i'm sad.

“It’s all I could do on such short notice, but happy birthday, July!”

July eyes the mini birthday party August’s set up for him—a cupcake with a twirly candle stuck in the icing, cheap streamers taped to the table, a handful of pink and violet flowers tied together with ribbon next to a carefully gift-wrapped box.

“I will never understand why you bother celebrating things like this. It isn’t even my birthday today.”

August cheerfully shushes him, taking July’s hands. “Oh, come on. We get to sit back and just have some time to ourselves for cake too, right? I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

He gets that dreamy look in his eye, and July can tell he’s about to go off on yet another tangent about some sappy fairy tale again. “It would’ve been nice to have your ‘birthday’—” and here August made little air quotes, “—on the 7th, though. Did you know, that in Japan, there’s a festival on that day where people write down wishes on pieces of paper and hang them up? And the festival itself is based off a folktale! Two lovers...separated across the sky by the Milky Way...and they can only meet on that exact day of the year…” Ah, there he goes.

“It’s really romantic, I think, even if it is sad too. After all, being separated so long makes meeting up again all the more special, wouldn’t you agree?” August looks up at July, with all the intensity of a burning star himself.

There is some part of July that wants to say yes—the two of them were spending less and less time together, and seeing August did spark something in the hollow of his chest, but more than anything, it makes him concerned that August is forgetting about him. They could be separated the distance of the universe and July would still try to go after him, but August running across a flock of magpies into July’s arms is...not quite something he can picture, and he’s not sure he wants to.

“...I wouldn’t know,” July says, and there’s a flicker of a shadow on August’s face. Was he hurt by that? July can’t tell.

“I thought it’d be fitting, but since we missed it, you can just have two birthdays. The 8th works out perfect too.” Whatever it was clouding over August’s enthusiasm has passed like rain in the night, and he’s back on the celebration train. “You couldn’t remember when your real birthday was, now you have two of them! Isn’t that great?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

August frowns, but it’s got none of the fog from earlier—it’s all sugary wide-eyed pouting that’s completely unfitting for a grown man in a secret organisation who has most definitely committed a murder at least once, and it shouldn’t work on July, but it very much does. He lets August lead him to the cupcake, lighting the candle himself on the off chance that even being near a fire was enough to let August burn the cake by accident.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” August says, as chipper as if it was his own birth they were celebrating and not July’s.

There isn’t anything that July can think of that he’d want that he can’t just take with his own hands instead of making an empty wish over a cupcake covered in candle wax on a day that isn’t even his birthday, but he throws a thought around regardless as he blows the candle out.

August plucks the candle from the cupcake, and licks the icing from his fingers. “What did you wish for?”

July’s mouth turns up, half-smiling. “If I tell you, it won’t come true. Even I know that.”

“Fair enough,” August laughs. He takes the bouquet and present from the table, handing them to July one at a time. “These are larkspurs. They’re the birth flowers for July!”

“They’re pretty,” says July, taking the flowers and looking them over. After a moment examining them, he gives August a quizzical glance. “Aren’t you going to explain the flower language for them, or something?”

“Oh…!” Blinking, August turns away. July can see his cheeks softly turning pink, which makes July’s ears start to burn a little. How troublesome. “I just...thought they suited you. They don’t really mean anything in particular.”

July looks at the larkspurs again, and he supposes August is right—pink and violet, the same colours in his hair, the petals curling the same way. There’s probably another reason, but if August isn’t going to tell him, he’s not going to ask. It doesn’t particularly matter, anyway.

He opens up the gift, peeling away the tape and unfolding the corners with the same amount of care that August must have put into it. Inside the box is a pair of earrings shaped like tiny clusters of stars dangling on chains. July’s collection of sparkly earrings gifted to him from August is slowly growing again, but somehow he never really minds.

“I was thinking about the Milky Way stuff too much and I just couldn’t resist...I hope you like them.”

“...I do. They’re beautiful.” July’s expression softens, and that seems to be enough for August.

The rest of the party is them splitting the cupcake as July laughs about August buying a tiny little cake, even if it is just the two of them there, while August says it was that or a regular-sized cake they’d have to eat in one sitting, and even if the both of them like sweets it’d be a bit much.

The icing is too sweet and August’s hands in his own are too warm, but for just a few moments, July slows down to August’s pace.

* * *

It’s only after August is gone that July remembers to do something for himself on his “birthdays”—when they were apart otherwise, August would always try to call him and gently scold him for forgetting again. At the rate we’re going, he’d say, the entire month of July might as well be your birthday. Then he’d laugh, and say he was only kidding.

_ Happy birthday, July. _

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t make it again this year, but just look out at the stars! They’ll be the same ones I’m looking at too. _

_ I love you. _

This year, July wonders if now August is staring back at him from the night sky itself. Back where he belongs, instead of being a shooting star that fell to earth.

He’s taken to celebrating both days, writing wishes out—they’re only for him to see, but even without telling anyone he knows they won’t come true—and getting a little cake.

July dispensed with the candle entirely; no use wishing the same thing twice a year every year when he’s the reason it’s not going to happen. He splits the cupcake evenly in half, partly because he never really feels like eating the entire thing, but also like a child leaving out cookies on Christmas Eve, he puts the other half in the fridge later on for someone who isn’t there. He takes off his gloves to keep the icing off them, but it gets on his hands instead. He wonders if he should look for someplace that makes them less sugary next year, but as he takes a bite out of the cupcake, he knows he’s still just going to go to the same place August bought them from before.

He takes a look at the clock on his phone—just in time. As the date changes, he can’t help but laugh in spite of himself. July 7th had all the proper themes and deep meanings, but July 8th was just as perfect: the day when their numbers would line up next to each other. 7 and 8, August and July.

There’s a faint flash of light across the stars. Ah, that must be him, scolding July for not doing everything right. Can’t be helped, July supposes. August was the one who knew anniversaries and traditions and all that sentimental nonsense, and he isn’t here to bug July about them any more.

July finishes off his half of the cupcake. Who knows how long he’s going to keep doing this. Every year, all alone, until he dies? He certainly hopes not. But until then—

_ Happy birthday to me. _

**Author's Note:**

> hiya folks i did this in like three hours after half-jokingly suggesting july doesn't know when his birthday was so august just decided when it was for him instead! i am crying.
> 
> takes out flower meanings written on my hands: pink larkspurs are romance and sentimentality, and purple ones are first love. enjoy.
> 
> if you want to cry with me, i'm on twitter at @esnoyuuutsu !


End file.
